In Eternity's Arms
by elicksir
Summary: Merlin leads a life of secrecy. His magick, of course, but also his concealed love for Arthur Pendragon. In this merthur oneshot, hearts collide and secrets are told, whether for better or worse. merlin x arthur, Merlin/Arthur, merthur, gay love, mlm


I'd never known dirt so stubborn as that which had embedded itself into Arthur's armour. Chunks of grit and hardened mud clung to his chainmail vest like I imagined barnacles would onto a smuggler's ship. Giving it all strength I could muster, I scoured the metal armour so vigorously that I thought it might fall off the stand. The breastplate rattled against the plackart with such ferocity that any passerby would probably have thought someone had dropped every pot, pan, and saucer in the castle kitchens all at once. The noise was deafening. But still, I scraped away like my life depended on it. If Arthur's armour wasn't clean by the jousting match this evening, he probably would stick my head on a stick and charge with that instead.

Normally, I would use magick to complete meaningless cleaning errands such as this but the castle was humming with the footsteps and chatter of people preparing for the competition tonight. I could easily get caught. One thing for certain is that I would rather lose my arm because of a session of physical exertion than my head for practising magick. I winced at the thought of burning at a stake, or being hanged in the gallows or, the worst, being burnt at the stake. Something primaeval within me twisted and shrivelled at the idea of being roasted alive. Any sane person wouldn't exactly enjoy the process of becoming a human hog roast, but I think there was an extra pain involved for me. The knowledge that my own fate could be as tragic and inequitable as all those with magick who had burned before me was unbearable, especially since up until now I had done such a good knowledge of concealing my powers. So, yes, I was much better off sticking to the laborious approach of cleaning: with sweat, blood, and good old elbow grease.

Heavy footsteps approached me from behind. The swaggering gait unmistakably belonged to my master, the Prince of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon. Gouging out the dirt in his armour once more, I decided to put on an air of ignorance. I pretended not to notice him striding through the armoury, or the way his boots scuffed the floor on his every third step, or how he paused his footsteps so close to where I was sat that I could almost feel the heat of his body against my back. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it with a grip that I could only compare to that of an embrace between long lost lovers who have finally been reunited. I paralleled his action by simply clutching the cleaning rag with the same amount of vehemence.

"Turn around, Merlin," Arthur said. The usual imperative in his voice had been replaced with a softened murmur, as though the harsh edges that usually surrounded his words had been rubbed away into warm curves that sighed their way through the air between his mouth and my ears.

As I slowly rotated in my seat, Arthur withdrew his hand from my shoulder and to his temples. His forefinger and thumb slowly traced the faint lines yet to be fully etched into his forehead, then made their way through his hair. His eyes were focused on his feet, and he kept shifting his weight from his left to his right. I nervously awaited his next sentence.

Finally looking up at me, Arthur cracked into a watery grin. "Oh dear, Merlin. You idiot." His eyes seemed to be following something around my face. Something amusing, that is, because the previous heavy tone of his voice had melted into one of hilarity.

"What? What is it?" I replied. I dropped the rag into the floor and anxiously scrubbed my face.

Arthur grabbed the rag from my lap and brandished it towards me. "You might need to spend more than a minute on personal hygiene, Merlin." He tossed the greyed fabric at me. "You're supposed to be cleaning my armour with this rag, not your face."

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the smooth metal breastplate. My forehead was covered in muddy smudges, smears of dirt lined my eyes and cheeks, and there was even a spot of oil swiped on my chin. My knees lost their feeling and a searing red blush surfaced at the tips of my ears. I licked my hand and tried to wipe the muck off my face. Arthur tutted at me.

"Even your buffoon brain should know that that's not going to clean your face, Merlin." He rolled his eyes at me, but I could tell that among his exasperation was an undeniable amusement. I gulped. This would be as good a time as ever to ask him about why he had come to find me in the armoury rather than completing his princely duties, wherever they took him

"So what brings you here then, Arthur?" I managed to muster up the confidence to say.

His face seemed to turn stony and he clenched his jaw as though crushing a stale piece of bread between his molars. His eyes flicked up, to the left, back to me, and to the right. I could almost hear his brain compiling information and processing thoughts like a thousand ticking pendulums. Drawing a deep breath, he said:

"I know your secret, Merlin."

The colour on my face drained away as quickly as it had previously appeared. All these years of hiding my magick from him had been for nothing; my magick had been exposed and my life would soon be over. A thousand tiny snakes writhed inside my stomach and knives pierced my heart as though I was their mortal enemy. I had no idea how Arthur had found out but I did know one thing and that was that if Arthur knew, soon his father King Uther Pendragon would know too. There was nothing I could do to save myself. Not even Gaius could get me out of this situation.

I ashamedly bowed my head. I couldn't bear to witness the disappointment I was so sure festered in the eyes of the man I loved. My numb fingers let the cleaning rag slip through them and it fell into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Chin up, Merlin. It can't have been easy keeping your crush on me secret for all this time. I should know," Arthur sighed, "I have been in love with you ever since I first laid eyes on you and your arrogant face. Your secret is safe with me."

A whirlwind span across my brain. My magick was still a safe secret; my feelings for Arthur less so. My emotions raged in the battlefield of my heart and tore away at each other as I had never known before. The king-to-be loved me back. I searched his eyes for any sign that he was simply pranking me, but he just blinked back at me, biting a little at his bottom lip.

The space between Arthur and me started to close. His lips were magnetic; I could do nothing to pull away from them. I tugged at the linen shirt and drew his waist closer to mine. The white shirt was so soft, so light that it was hardly there at all, and the warmth of his body warmed my hand through it. Arthur rested one of his hands on the side of my face, fingertips gently pressing into the nape of my neck, thumb grazing the soft skin between my jaw and throat. They seemed to last forever, those seconds that we spent staring into each other's eyes, noticing the small, perfect imperfections on the other's faces, lovingly learning the grooves and lines on the other's skin. Time truly slowed down and the world stopped with it. No clattering from the kitchens, no shouting of maids or masters, nothing. We had created our own crack in reality that only we could exist in. The perfect sliver of a perfect moment.

And then we kissed.

The world that had so recently paused like a hitched breath had begun to exhale. Arthur attacked my lips with the ferocity of an army but the tenderness of a silk sheet. Years of bottled up passion blazed in the places where our bodies met. It was a war of lust; a feverous battle of craving and hunger. His tongue was a warrior and I was the trophy of war he yearned for. Hands scattered across the battlefield. Heat from enemy fire spurred on the duel. Each lunge, strike, and charge brought us one step closer to victory. Arthur was a paradox. His cheeks, doused in unkempt stubble were so rough against mine but moved with a grace and softness that I thought not possible until now. He oozed with confidence, he knew I was his, but every new move was unsure and tentative. I had never felt more alive than I did when I was pressed against him but I had also never experienced such a detachment from the world around me. I felt safe but dangerous. Joyous at the release of this ardour but heartbroken at the knowledge that this might never occur again. We were everything and nothing, the purest light and the most depthful dark.

Eternity existed in his arms.


End file.
